


God, like a transgression

by clavicular



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, References to Depression, Sex Work, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clavicular/pseuds/clavicular
Summary: Erik watches the shift in Crowley's gaze. It's not a predatory thing. It's not even lust. But in one moment, he's just a man, and in the next, he feels himself... venerated.Written forthis prompton the kink meme.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/OC (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	God, like a transgression

The flat is aggressively modern, and cold in a way that always makes Erik feel a little out of place. The first time he stepped into the living room, he'd taken in the sleek, black furniture, the imposing decor, and nearly asked the question that's been on the tip of his tongue ever since. 

_Why me?_

He knows now; at least, he knows some of it. Still, the question has never quite gone away, because he's just... He's not this guy's type. He _knows_ this guy, and the facade of cool he wears every time anyone's looking. Erik would never undersell himself, but his attraction is not the conventional sort, and guys like this care a lot about convention.

"It's been a while," Crowley says, as he fixes them both a drink. "What have you been up to?"

"I've got three assignments and an exam coming up. This programming course is killing me."

Clients don't want to hear that he's in this line of work because depression stole his ability to meet deadlines and keep any sort of regular schedule, so he's student instead. An ambitious dreamer who's going to change the world.

Crowley nods along, and it doesn't matter that everything he's saying is bullshit because Crowley's not listening anyway.

When he stops, Crowley says, "The envelope on the table's for you."

It's rude to count it, but the clients who mind are clients he's happy to never see again. And the clients who don't mind - well, sometimes they do this.

"There's an extra thousand in here," he says. "What's it for?"

"A gift." Crowley sets a glass of red on the table, and then retreats. "I have a request, but you can keep the money even if you say no."

Erik's had clients with crushes. It's cute, and he wouldn't stop seeing someone over it, but a tip so generous might give him pause. He prefers clear expectations; it's dangerous to be left owing. 

Crowley understands what this is, though. Erik's never been with someone whose heart belongs so completely to someone else. He folds the envelope in half and slide it into the bag at his feet. 

"Go on, then," he says. 

Crowley blushes, and it would be charming if he didn't look so sad.

"Will you stay the night? I want to hold you, afterwards."

Erik hesitates. "I don't usually do that."

"Right," Crowley says, immediately. "That's fine. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay to ask." Erik leans in and takes Crowley's hand. "Let me think about it?"

Crowley nods, and Erik watches the shift in his gaze. It's not a predatory thing. It's not even lust. But in one moment, he's just a man, and in the next, he feels himself... venerated. 

"Come to bed," Erik says, softly. 

Crowley shakes his head, and tugs Erik closer. "For now, just be with me."

Crowley's touch ghosts up his arm, careful, like he's not sure he's allowed. Erik makes a pleased sound and winds his arms around Crowley's waist. 

"Aziraphale," Crowley murmurs, and buries his face in Erik's neck. "I miss you, you know. Even when I have you, I miss you."

Erik slides an arm up his back and strokes his hair. 

"I know," he says, because _I'm here now_ is the kind of lie that hurts.

"You're a phenomenon," Crowley says against his skin. "That's all I want to tell you. You're a miracle. You're everything."

"I know," Erik repeats. "You don't need to tell me. You show it every day."

He's learned how to say the things that help. That's the real art to this, and though Crowley may not realise, it's that more than any resemblance he bears to Crowley's friend that keeps Crowley coming back to him. This, then, is what's behind the facade. This is what he looks like, when no one's looking.

"I want to say it." Crowley presses closer, his fingers mapping the contours of Erik's torso. "I know I can't. You don't want to hear it, it'd only hurt you, but some days it breaks me not to say it."

Erik's stepped wrong a few times. _I love you, too,_ was the worst. Maybe putting words to the grief is necessary, but Crowley sobbing and shaking against him didn't feel like catharsis.

"You're beautiful," Crowley says. "You're brilliant, and you pull people into your orbit without even realising. It's maddening. Do you have any idea what I could do with with a power like that?"

"Something terrible, I imagine."

"Nah." Crowley laughs quietly. "You wouldn't let me."

He breathes in, like surfacing through an ice floe.

"I love you." His lips graze Erik's pulse. "I love you. _God,_ I love you."

Crowley says _God,_ like a transgression. He always does. Erik thinks he's trying to confess to something beyond his own understanding.

"It's okay," Erik murmurs. "You don't have to hide it."

Crowley trails kisses up to the shell of Erik's ear.

"I'd do anything for you. You have to know that. Anything."

"Show me," Erik urges. "I want your mouth on me. Come on. You make me feel so good. Please."

It's a little shameless, but Crowley is _good_ with his tongue, and when he puts it on Erik's cock, he stops saying things Erik doesn't have an answer to.

"Okay." Crowley kisses him, soft and desperate, and leads him to the bed.

It's always this way, when Erik coaxes him into shutting his brain off with something more immediate. He undresses him slowly, and seems lost when he runs out of clothes. He kisses Erik everywhere, and runs hands over his body like he's learning him by heart.

"That's it," Erik murmurs. "You're so good. So good for me, Crowley. You make me feel so good." 

" _Aziraphale_."

And then he wraps his lips around Erik's cock, and Erik loses track of everything else.

Crowley holds him, afterwards. They're chest to chest, and Crowley's arms wrap around him, but Crowley still seems small, curled in on himself, like he's the one being held. At some point he must have turned the dimmed lights all the way off, but Erik doesn't remember him doing it.

"He kissed me, once," Crowley says. "It was - well. A long time ago. I don't think he even remembers."

"That doesn't seem like the sort of thing you'd forget."

"Yeah," Crowley says. "You would think."

"Have you ever thought about -"

"Yes." 

The quiet builds. Erik considers rolling over. Crowley could spoon him, and he'd get a bit of distance. Freedom from all the things hanging in the air. 

"I'm not really a student," Erik says, into the dark. "I got sick, and had to drop out."

He's never told a client that before. 

"Do you miss it?"

Erik swallows. "Yeah." 

Crowley places a hand on his cheek, fingertips to his temple. Their chests rise and fall together, and their breath reverberates in the silence. Erik has the strangest sense of being seen.

"I'm sorry," Crowley says. "I would help if I could."

Erik shrugs. "I might get better. None of the meds have made a difference, but I haven't tried them all." 

Crowley makes a sound that should be a laugh, but isn't.

"And once you have?" 

"I like what I do now," Erik says. "I guess I'll keep doing that until I find something I like more. Also, I might take up boxing. I hear it helps to channel the rage."

Crowley snorts, and drops his hand back down to Erik's hip.

"You make it sound easy."

 _Yeah,_ Erik thinks. _Sometimes that's the hardest part._

"I can't stay the night," he says. "Can I still blame it on those three assignments I don't really have?"

"Sure," Crowley says, and very nearly keeps the disappointment out of his voice.

"I could stay until you fell asleep, though. If you like."

Crowley closes his eyes. His head falls forward, coming to rest against Erik's chest.

"Thank you," he breathes. "That would be perfect."

Erik wraps an arm around him, and tucks Crowley's head under his chin. Crowley hums, a sound of true, simple joy, and relaxes into the touch. Erik stays, and strokes Crowley's back, and waits to feel his breath even out.


End file.
